The Hog's Head
by sunne
Summary: This is a practice round for the QLFC.


Ron Weasley stepped into the Hog's Head, the darkness of the tavern surrounding him with the smell of Firewhiskey. He sighed and shuffled tiredly across the dirty floor, between rough wooden tables, and sank down heavily into one of the stools by the bar. A candle stub was stuck to the bar, the wax thick around the candle's base. The flame wavered slightly as he sat down, the bar owner approaching Ron.

"Weasley," Aberforth Dumbledore said, plunking a shot glass down on the bar before him. "The usual?"

Resting his elbows on the bar, Ron let his head sink down into his hands. "Tha's fine," he said. "Perfectly bloody fine," he muttered to himself.

"Bad day?" Aberforth eyed Ron sideways.

"Something like that," he said.

The fight he'd had with Hermione earlier that day came to mind along with the fact that a small stack of overdue bills had piled up on his desk. He'd hidden them with a simple concealment charm, but he knew Hermione was smarter than that. His head throbbed and he rubbed at it absently as he reached for the shot glass filled with Firewhiskey. It sloshed over the side as he picked it up and downed it.

It burned, screaming down his throat. But the welling of warmth in the pit of his stomach was a solace, smoothing the jagged edges of his anxiety and stress. Ron sighed.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Aberforth offered. He filled Ron's glass up again and reached down to rummage in a cabinet beneath the bar.

Grunting, Ron shrugged one shoulder, upending his second shot of Firewhiskey. He dropped the glass on the table. It landed with a clunk. Aberforth went to refill it, and Ron held up his hand.

Hermione's voice ran through his head.

" _You're drunk, Ronald. Again?!"_

Ron shook his head, trying to rid himself of the sounds of her shouting. She'd always had a keen ability to make him feel shameful for things that - well, for things he knew he shouldn't be feeling.

" _This wasn't the man I married. You're not the man I thought would help me raise our children."_

He leaned down and rest on the bar. Aberforth shuffled away to tend to another patron. Someone sat down beside Ron, the stool scraping against the floor. Ron didn't bother looking up.

"Ron? Ron Weasley?"

Grumbling under his breath, he lifted his head. "Huh?"

"Merlin! It _is_ you. I didn't think so at first. I mean...finding Ron Weasley in the Hog's Head. You'd never think, really." A hand clapped on Ron's back. "It's been _years_!"

He squinted in the dimness of the tavern, trying to recognize the brown-haired man sitting beside him. His eyes traveled down the man's robes, noting that though they were of average quality, they were clean and neat. A large grin had spread across the man's face, but his eyes narrowed slightly, accurately assessing Ron's stupor.

"It's Terry Boot," he said.

Recognition dawned on Ron along with a hint of shame, imagining how he looked, slumped at the bar of the Hog's Head.

"Terry," he said, straightening up. "How've you been?"

"Oh, great, really," Terry replied. "Business is good." He paused. "Oh, you probably don't know. I just took partial ownership of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Recent acquisition, I know, but I'm so excited."

Aberforth approached Terry and took his order. He returned a moment later with a tall glass of something acid green.

"Dragon's breath," Terry said, taking a swallow, his eyes widening a great deal. "Has a bit of a bite." He laughed and set his glass down on the bar. "Now, if I remember correctly, you married Hermione Granger. How is she?"

"Oh, she...she's fine," he said.

"What's she doing these days?"

"Works with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

Terry laughed. "Fitting," he said. "I remember her S.P.E.W days." He grew quiet, shaking his head slowly. "You really caught a good one. I'm still jealous." He elbowed Ron in the side softly. "You know I had a crush on her fifth year?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I had it bad for her. I always wondered why she was never placed in Ravenclaw."

"Broke too many rules," Ron snorted. "Those were the good days."

Terry shook his head, grinning nostalgically. "You know, the other day I was thinking of our years at Hogwarts. Blimey, I can't believe all that went on in that school when we were students. I mean, we were in the middle of a war by the end of it. I have kids," he said, turning to Ron. "You have kids too, right?"

"Yeah, Rose and Hugo," he said.

"That's right, I remember. I think Rose is in the same year as my Henry. Fifth year, right?"

Ron nodded.

"I think back on everything we did when we were fifteen, and I can't even imagine Henry dealing with all that. Merlin! _I don't want to_ ," he said. "We were seventeen when the war ended."

"Yeah," Ron said softly, thinking of his daughter and son. An intense love for his children rose in him. He, Hermione, and Harry had been only seventeen when they went Horcrux hunting. Seventeen! A sick wash of horror passed through him. How had they even survived?

"It's staggering to think about," Terry continued, not noticing Ron's discomfort. "I think Abby would have a litter of nifflers." He picked up his glass and took another swig of his drink Terry shuddered with pleasure. "I can't get enough of this stuff," he said. Finished with his drink, he set the glass down on the bar and rooted around in his robes for a sickle. "Well, Abby is going to be wondering where I am, and if she finds out I was at the Hog's Head, she'll have my head on a platter." He chuckled and elbowed Ron in the ribs again. "Women, right?" He stood up. "Have to love them, though."

Ron nodded. "Yeah."

With a wave, Terry left, leaving Ron still sitting at the bar. Aberforth walked over.

"One more?" The old man asked.

Ron glanced at Aberforth and then at the door to the tavern. He shook his head and stood. "No, that's alright. I should get home. Hermione'll be wondering where I am."


End file.
